


What pride often leads to

by Lord_SC



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abduction, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Dark, M/M, Missing Scene, Oh god, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape, Rats, Tentacle Porn, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_SC/pseuds/Lord_SC
Summary: Billy is turned into the Mind Flayer’s main host. Of course, it is neither quick nor pleasant.Ordeal [noun]: 1. a very unpleasant and painful or difficult experience.2. historically, an ancient test of guilt or innocence by subjection of the accused to severe pain, survival of which was taken as divine proof of innocence.





	What pride often leads to

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea, no excuse, and no defense. Enjoy.  
Also welcome to yet another episode of “It’s not because it lasted fifty seconds in the show that I’m not going to write four thousand+ words about it”

Swearing as though all the repressed anger that had accumulated in his heart for nearly a decade would overflow, spill out in the form of these foul words and finally disappear if he cussed enough, he took a couple steps forward.

He had no notion of what to do next, and some part of him, deep within, comprehended that cursing was naught but a means to buy himself a little time before he would have to handle the situation and actually think about a solution. Some part of him he could have been aware of, had he wished to dwell on the tiny yet appalling prick of fear in his gut, but that he instead preferred to ignore, only angrier at the idea that he was apprehensive. He was not a pussy, damn it, he wasn’t anxious, and scared even less! It would not even have dawned on him that anyone would have been worried about being alone at night in a slightly remote, mostly unfamiliar location, with an automobile damaged by God-knows-what, an opened forehead, and no one to call for help or advice. It would not have dawned on him that even for an athletic guy like him, it was a bothersome situation at best, and a dangerous one at worst. Because how could he have considered himself a real man if he had not toughed it all up? But, of course, not before growing increasingly furious.

And yet, his ire promptly dispersed when his ears picked up an odd noise, small yet somewhat unsettling enough for something cold to seem to drop in his stomach. Swishing, rustling… Running? Refusing to look too cowardly not to confront potential peril, even though nobody was watching or judging him but his ego, he immediately spun around in the sound’s direction. And in less than a second, everything fell apart.  
First confusion, there was nothing.  
Appeasement, it wasn’t any hazard.  
Rage, he had **definitely not** been affrighted.  
Astonishment, as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he believed he’d noticed something moving.  
And finally, utter shock when he _felt_.

He didn’t have the scantiest idea what, but it was there, squeezing his heart in his chest and crushing his lungs. He would have recognized it was nothing but sheer unadulterated dread if he had been disposed to accept it. Instead, he considered it an omen, primal instinct forewarning him that some sort of menace was approaching. But the real question was which sort.

“Who’s there ?!” He called out in his third most threatening voice, hoping to identify and deter the hazard. Realizing it wasn’t working, he used the second fiercest, most intimidating tone he could muster, this time not holding back from vociferating. “Hey !!! I said who’s there !!!”

He heard the thud, sensed the tug on his leg as well as the burn of crashing against the ground then a metallic door, and the scorch of being dragged on an uneven surface before he could process any of said information —all he could catch was that it hurt, that it was terrifying and that he needed _to make it stop_. Letting out frantic screams of pain that merged in shouts for help, he desperately tried to grasp something to _survive_, each of his senses on maximal alert : at that very moment, there was nothing he knew and understood but the throb, the urge and the struggle to survive. He couldn’t have remembered his own name or what he’d been doing five or two seconds ago. Lastly his hands found something to clutch at for dear life, something he didn’t even discern was a leaden doorframe before he was forced to release it despite his best efforts; the force pulling him backward only too overpowering for him to resist although he’d placed all of his energy, might and more in doing so —and he was precipitated down a flock of stairs he hadn’t noticed either, so swiftly he appeared to fly, not even grazing any step in his fall before he landed directly at the very bottom of the staircase in an explosion of dolor, suffering, and plausibly his legs : if he had deemed he'd been injured earlier, he could now state it had been nothing. Nothing compared to feeling his knees and forearms burst against the ground, his entire body save thankfully for his head having hit the hard floor as brusquely as painfully. But despite the sixteen-feet fall that likely could have killed him given his position, and was no matter what torture, whatever was dragging him did not relent. Still, miraculously, after pulling him a few feet farther, it finally ceased: not letting him go, but at least halting.

Thanks to this, he was in a matter of a couple seconds finally able to breathe again, to thoroughly realize how much each of his muscles ached, and to try to make sense of the situation only to rapidly discover that he could not rationalize what had just happened. But that could wait: what he needed at the moment was to escape. And who cared about solving that puzzle if it took his life to know the truth ?! He gathered the courage to glance at his bound feet to see what had abducted him, more because he was aware that the first step towards fleeing was to free his ankles than thanks to any sort of temerity that was long gone. But even as he stared at it, he could still not understand what it was, and when he tried to kick it off, it only tightened its grip, keeping him from moving his legs at all. The purest dread he had ever felt then sunk in his heart the instant it struck him that something resembling a dark tentacle was restraining him in an abandoned factory where nobody could have guessed he was, at night, and that he didn’t have a clue on how to force it to release its grip. It seemed like a nightmare, yet he knew in his very core it wasn’t one. His nightmares weren’t… Of that kind. He hesitated. The grasp was powerful, far more than he was. Trying to shake it off with brute strength would not work. His blazing fury had subsided, making way for cold fear to take over his entire being, just as much for him to realize that he would have to use his brain to save himself, but not enough to let him actually find how to run away with what little energy he still had. To make matters worse, he was growing sorer by the second as the adrenalin rush dissipated, and he soon came to wonder whether he even had any strength left in him at all.

Maybe… Maybe he just couldn’t flee, maybe he was doomed. But no, no way. The thought that he was scared shitless made anger bubble up inside of him again, but it was immediately stopped by additional noise, this time repeating itself, and most of all closer. Relentless scratching. His breath caught up in his throat, and he tried and failed to shake off the eerie feeling that something even worse was about to happen. And there were not many things that seemed worse than his situation at the very moment. Yet, he was a thousand miles away from imagining the sound was caused by what he soon saw: rats. Or rather, he might have guessed it was coming from rats. In an abandoned factory, or anywhere really, it was pretty common. What he would never have thought about was an army of rats, swarming only a few feet away from him, circling around no one but himself. In any other situation, he would have been outraged to realize he was so terrified by an animal that could fit in his palm, but at that precise time, he was only remembering about all the kind of tortures involving mice, trying to guess how long it would take for such a high number of rodents to devour him alive, and panicking. He began thrashing around, desperately attempting to kick but barely moving his feet an inch. He tried punching the unidentified tendril holding him, tearing it off with his bare hands and even clawing at it, but it was all vain. But there was worse: all of his efforts did not only fail to pay off but had the exact effect he was worried they’d have. The tentacle retaliated by wrapping itself around his arms, placating them against his body in a grasp that could only have been described as far too tight. Billy grunted, hissing between his teeth at the painful discomfort.

“Fucking let me go !!!” He roared, “if this is a joke it ain’t fucking funny !!!”

He almost kept on shouting in desperate hopes it truly was nothing but a messed-up prank, but before he could utter another word, all the rats surrounding him began to explode one by one. And that was it. The final straw. He lost the last sliver of confidence he had managed to keep, and with it all the scenarios that could have explained what was going on and end with him returning to his place safe and sound. He had never thought he would miss the shithole he had to call home, but at that very moment, he would have given anything to wake up in his bed and realize it had only been a bad dream, or at least just to go back there without having been any more harmed than he’d already been. There was no way anyone could have made thousands of rats straight up implode just to trick somebody. There was no way this meant anything but true horror. He would have trembled in fear if he hadn’t been bound so tightly. This was all too much for him, first the abnormal accident and substance on his car, then being dragged violently on dozens of feet, being abducted by God-knows-what, having no chance of escaping, and finally that? He sniffed, holding himself back from crying because he would never have forgiven himself for it, and stopped attempting to squirm. It was useless anyway. But he didn’t want to die… Caught up in his despair, he almost missed noticing a not-so-invisible detail that caused a shiver to run down his spine: the small puddles of jelly that had been rats moved, and as though it was not terrifying enough, began to assemble. His heart jumped in his throat, and without wasting one more second, he strongly sealed his eyes shut, preferring ignorance over awful knowledge of what was happening. Anything he was able to imagine could not be worse than his reality at this instant, and he didn’t have the temerity to look anymore.

Yet, when he felt his body being lifted off the ground, he was close to obligated to check the evolution of the thoroughly unbelievable situation he had no choice but to believe. And his eyes did not only open but rounded in terror when he found himself faced with a four-legged or rather four-tentacled —perhaps eight, seeing as they divided at the bottom— Alien-looking monster, whose body was obviously made of the obliterated rats, and which was the thing holding him this tightly. Shouting suddenly seemed more than pointless. He slowly exhaled, his breath hot in the chill air, and frantically tried to find an idea that could have helped him amongst the thousands of thoughts running through his mind —all regrets, panic, and sorrow. 

“Let me go,” he mumbled rapidly, not even controlling the words flowing out of his mouth anymore, “I’m fucking not good to eat and I don’t want to harm you, so please, please just drop me and I’ll go back home and everything will be fine.”

And for a second, as crazy as it appeared —but what wasn’t crazy about this after all?—, he could have sworn the thing had _understood_: but the next instant, it raised one of its limbs, and the tentacle’s two ends seemed to cover themselves in what could only have been described as materialized darkness. It was only a matter of seconds before it approached Billy, along with smaller tendrils also attached to the main body and just as shadow-shrouded as the main arm. He truly believed they’d wrap up around him and that he would be mummified, but— it would have been too kind. Instead, one of the two main tentacles, three if he counted the one restraining him and keeping him up, found its way to his face, and he felt it brushing against his chin, his lips, sensed how icy cold it was. Remembering what it was made of, he felt a wave of nausea washing over him, but it was nothing compared to how strong it became when the freezing appendage slipped into his mouth, despite his efforts to maintain it shut. Sickness overcoming him, he tried to cough it out, but the tentacle only took advantage of it to push itself further, deep into his throat, almost keeping him from noticing tendrils had entered his ear canals and were gaining ground. His breathing became faster, soon turning to panicked panting again, and he let out a whimper that came out as nothing more than a strangled gurgle. The thing was already filling his mouth almost entirely, leaving little space for him to respire and none to close it. He was trying to, attempting to bite on the tentacle —no matter if it tore off inside of his mouth, he’d spit it out, anything was better than this continuing for another second—, but his teeth just weren’t powerful enough. And as he struggled to end this repulsing invasion, it kept on getting worse and worse as the limb advanced relentlessly, its diameter augmenting with each inch Billy had no choice but to take on.

It did not take much more time for it to grow painful, his mouth unused to being as open for so many minutes, and furthermore being more and more outstretched, until he became sure it would unhinge his jaw if it didn’t stop soon. It was not a small ache but a sharp, strong pain, which had him whining and crying out in dolor, yet both sounds were silenced. A different but just as intolerable kind of suffering was tormenting his ears, as the tendrils had reached a place where their smallest movement had every chance of being torturous. And if it wasn’t enough, one more inch in his mouth and it blocked his windpipes for good, keeping him from breathing at all; While, to make matters worse, other tendrils were getting into his nostrils. He thrashed around once more, this time to save his life, clinging to the hope his pitiful efforts would be more effective than they had been during his last attempt. Of course they weren’t. He quickly began to suffocate and to pant as his entire body started to understand the true meaning of asphyxiation. While his brain was pulling all the alarms, his lungs were burning and what little energy he had left was immediately drained. His eyes commenced to sting at this, and his breathing grew quicker by the second, lungs trying at all cost to find air, in vain. Yet it wasn’t enough for the monster: and the deeper the arm was getting, the more he could feel it against the inside of his throat, and the more he needed to throw up. But also the less vomit could rise, and it wasn’t long before he could sense it in his esophagus, warm and dense liquid against cold, slimy solid.

And for no apparent reason, what could only have been called a miracle happened: the tentacle finally retrieved, as though it had been hurt somehow. Billy immediately began to cough, not even stopping when he puked on his chin, his clothes, the creature, and the ground. When his coughing fit halted, at last, he took the quickest deep breaths he could, almost amazed by how glorious it felt to do something as common as inspire. But his respite didn’t last: and before his respiration had even stabilized, the putrid member leisurely slithered between his parted lips, at first merely brushing against his teeth and gliding on his tongue, giving him a burning taste of his own spew and stomach acid, then invaded his entire mouth again —though this time, it did not go as far as before, not thoroughly filling his throat nor preventing him from breathing. The presence, however gut-churning it was, had ceased being life-threatening; And Billy found that he wasn’t so sure anymore whether it was a good or a bad thing. He wanted nothing but to survive, yes, but it meant this twisted torture and repulsing humiliation would continue, and who knew how it would end. For all that, when he painstakingly swallowed and felt the thing squirming inside of him, he found clarity: he’d kill this creature. No matter what, no matter how. He would destroy it, reduce it to dust until not even puddles of jelly like before were left. And with this newfound sense of purpose, amidst this chaos of torment and incomprehension, he gained peace. His hatred and agony counterbalanced each other, so equally that he could only feel satisfaction. He’d get his revenge if it was the last thing he would do. How didn’t seem to matter.

Obviously, there was no way this serenity could have lasted more than a few moments. Billy had never been a tranquil person, and —this wasn’t a tranquil situation. When the grasp on his arms loosened, he barely noticed it —but he definitely felt the cool air hitting his skin as his jacket was removed. Seeing it drop to the ground before experiencing once more the icy grip’s tightening was enough for anguish to throw his emotions completely off-balance again, and for a paralyzing panic to take over his heart and mind. But it was nothing compared to how he felt after he sensed the coldness of yet another tentacle, of the same limb as the one in his throat, brushing against his back, underneath his tank top. He gasped, yet another muffled sound, and nothing but yelped when it slipped in his underpants. His face lost all color, and he was immediately petrified in place. His breathing hitched, and he accidentally snorted on the tendrils which made him feel as though he had water in his nose, but really, that was the least of his concerns. It couldn’t, it just couldn’t—_it could_. Slowly, as though it was nothing important, as if it was doing it on purpose to torment him, the monster’s arm slid between his cheeks, reaching his narrow hole, and lightly pressing against it.

Billy twitched, screamed against the obstacle in his mouth and regained his fighting spirit once more, kicking and trying to bend his body, to push back the tentacles, anything that could have preserved his masculinity: to no avail whatsoever. He had not succeeded in moving an inch. Spirit or not, muscles or not, he was not strong enough. He was… Weak. He had failed, and there was nothing left to do. No one would save him, no one had ever saved him, from anything. Any voice telling him that everything was going to be okay had always lied, and it wasn’t about to change. He was alone. He had nobody to protect him… Nothing to protect in the whole world but himself, and he was not even able to do this. At long-dreaded last, the tentacle ceased its taunting, mercilessly giving his hole a forceful push. It broke through the ring of flesh, a too feeble defense against the unpitying harshness; _And Billy burst into tears_.

The pain, the anguish, the humiliation, it was all too much, overwhelming, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to go home, to bury himself under warm blankets and to forget all about that. Everything here was damp and dark and cold and hurtful and he hated it. He needed out. The stop of all this, when would it cease? It felt like it had already been an eternity, and he wasn’t sure what would end first, this torment or him. With each moment passing, the tentacle was inching farther into Billy, exploring in icy detail the place where no one had ever dared to touch him before. He would have ground his teeth if he had had the possibility, but no: even that was refused to him. He had no choice but to focus on the agonizing pain, on his skin breaking as he was intruded into further, on every twist and turn of the limb inside of him. He could feel each of its curves, movements, and asperities, all drowned in an ocean of suffering. That was not supposed to happen. Not ever, and much less like this. He didn’t want to.

The pain and discomfort was overwhelming, his entire body sore, from his jaw to his bound legs —but most of all, _inside_. The presence was impossible to take, the tentacle far too thick, far too stiff. He tried to take his mind off it, but how? How could he have focused on anything but the pain, the acid in his mouth, and the mortification in his heart? Another wave of nausea hit him as he remembered the rats bursting right in front of him, and turning into… That. It scarcely mattered that it was shrouded in shadows —underneath, it was nothing but pests’ skin, bones, entrails. There was not a single detail about his situation that was anything except the worst thing that could ever have happened to him, or so it seemed. He screamed, unsure why, and the only thing that made him stop was a mix of thinking that someone could have heard him, and that no one would hear him anyway. Both options were terrifying : that anybody might catch him in this position, or that this torture would continue. He wasn’t sure which was more frightening.

Of course, he got his answer when the limb pushed further and that he felt —oh, the pinnacle of disgrace and shame—, that he felt _pleasure_. It needed to stop. He choked on both his own saliva and the appendage that refused to leave his throat, which caused him to have another coughing fit that did nothing to make him forget about this twisted feeling he was experiencing. No, that was not possible, he was not like that. Nowhere near it, not the slightest bit, no, no, no, no. Just no. His chest heaved, and he felt a hiccup accompanying his renewed sobs. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him, it was this monster that had done something to him, not him, not a problem with him… When the creature began rocking him, almost gently, as if to soothe him, as though it knew exactly what was happening, he cried louder. Of course it knew, and was trying to make it worse. 

Billy began to tremble, or rather to shake from the entire situation. The fear was too much to bear, and the pain only worse. It felt like his body temperature had dropped a few degrees, too, and it seemed to have a paralyzing effect on his muscles, which he could less and less have a sensation of. He let out a moan that, though muffled, sounded impossibly loud to his ears, and he hated it. Between two mewls of agony, he wondered how he must have looked like in this very instant, and the result only made him twice more ashamed. His face was flushed pink and red, he sensed it, and his dark eyelashes and crimson cheeks wet with the tears he had ceased holding back. He was sweaty and exhausted from his useless efforts, no matter how frozen he was feeling. But there was worse than this already humiliating depiction : he was only too aware that his chin was soiled by a combination of upchuck and drool which his mouth had been open for too long to keep inside, that he must have looked powerless, bound as he was, and so disgustingly pathetic with the tendrils filling each of his openings. Chasing away the image, he whimpered. He was giving up. What else could he do?

With a defeated cry, he yielded, surrendering his bleeding and shivering body and soul to the cold, agony, and mortification. That was it. He was breaking, broken. Everything he had ever possessed had been torn off him, and now, even his pride had been stripped away. He was feeling naked without it. There really was nothing left of him. Nothing left to carry on. He didn’t even have a meaning, anything to do at all… No. Bullshit. The memory hit him like a bullet, reawakening his inner rage. There was one thing, he’d promised himself he’d kill that thing and he would! He goddamn would!!! He’d fucking cut it, with his teeth if he had to! And he’d make sure it suffered… Just as much as he was suffering. Yet this time, the wave of anger collapsed even before hitting the shore, and dissipated as quickly as it had formed.

He was too feeble for this, too nauseous and sore. Even the little gasps he couldn’t help but to emit with each of the tentacle’s motion were enough to drain him, how could he have found enough energy to seethe? And did he at least want to? There was nothing left to salvage, if there even had been anything of him worth salvaging before. So why bother? Why had he ever bothered? He had no hope, no love, no purpose. Nothing to do in this world. Revenge would fix nothing, would not give him back all he had lost. In that case, why would he keep making efforts to live? Death seemed less tiring. And he was exhausted. Fucking, fighting, yelling. Always the same routine. Enduring, breaking, hurting. All that for what? What was so good about life that made it all worth it? Cloud nine was overrated, and being admired and envied a complete rip-off. Love was nothing but lies, and only selfishness, jealousy and pain existed. When he’d die, who would miss him? Who would he miss? Did he even know anyone he felt a connexion to? That he hadn’t abandoned, that hadn’t abandoned him, or wouldn’t eventually? Of course not. The rest of the world simply didn’t care about him. Despite how insane his situation was, and how horrid, the Earth hadn’t stopped spinning. Time hadn’t paused. No one had spared a thought, nobody even knew. And if he died in there, not a single person would shed a tear.

Yet he wanted to live. He wished someone would rescue him —no, not even that. He longed for anybody to go out of their way, even just a little, to check on him, ask him if he was okay, listen to him without judging, take him into their arms and promise him everything would be fine. Even if it was one more lie. He was ready to believe, as long as somebody else was ready to make him, for as long as he needed.

With a clarity he had never experienced before, he realized all he had ever yearned for was a helping hand: only to immediately forget it when, after one last cry from him, the creature’s shape changed —and covered him entirely. He screamed as the cold enveloped him and froze him to the bone. And only then did the ordeal begin.


End file.
